


Elusion

by HannaBellLecter, Piccolo_is_green, thats_my_bulma



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Smut, Vegebul, mini bang challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaBellLecter/pseuds/HannaBellLecter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_is_green/pseuds/Piccolo_is_green, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thats_my_bulma/pseuds/thats_my_bulma
Summary: Elusion - The action of escaping from or avoiding a danger, enemy, or pursuer, typically in a skilful or cunning way.By nature of its design, the Planet Trade Organisation divides everyone it encounters into three core groups; (1) those who work for Cooler, (2) those who work for Frieza, and (3) the deceased victims of either of the Cold Brothers' regimes.Bulma Briefs falls into the first category. She's pretty sure the man she just met falls into the second.She really wants to avoid falling into the third.Bulma/Vegeta, written for Vegebulocracy's 2019 Mini Bang Challenge. Fanart created by HannaBellLecter and thats-my-bulma.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is rated Explicit for SMUT. Lots of it! There's also going to be a wonderfully smutty picture at the end of this chapter, so please be aware that it is NSFW to scroll down to the bottom of the page.
> 
> All four chapters of this fic are written by me (Piccolo_is_green), and I will be posting them over the course of this week. This fic was inspired by the song ‘Stranger in a Room’. Both the Sara Hartman and Jamie xx versions are worth listening to in order to get the overall vibe of this fic.
> 
> I wrote this fic as part of the Mini Bang Challenge, and was lucky enough to be paired with two wonderful artists, HannaBellLecter and thats-my-bulma, who I have named as co-creators since their art is displayed in here. All of their pieces work in with the first chapter of this story, and I have added them in here for you. I can't express how grateful and honoured I am to have had these two illustrate my fic. Thank you so much!
> 
> Find HannaBellLecter's art here: https://twitter.com/hanna_lecter  
> Find thats-my-bulma's art here: https://thats-my-bulma.tumblr.com/
> 
> Lastly, thank you to Lady Lan and HannaBellLecter for beta-reading this fic. It's much appreciated!
> 
> \- Pic

**Year 766 GS (Galactic Standard)**

Bulma stepped through the door of the bar and grimaced as the smell of unwashed bodies hit her. The room was dimly lit, and the whole place had a muggy feel about it, but it was warm and better than standing outside in the semi-permanent thunderstorm that continued to rage on. Why anyone had ever thought that this planet, with its flooded landscape and near-constant rain, was a good place to set up an important trade stop was beyond her. Someone had made that choice, though, and now she was here.

At least she was drier than most of the other patrons inside. She’d used her stop on this planet as a chance to test out her latest invention — a miniature forcefield built into her watch that surrounded its wearer and worked like an invisible raincoat. It had worked, and had even kept her boots dry. She switched it off, and almost immediately stepped in a puddle on her way to the bar’s counter. “Ah _shit_ ,” she swore quietly, hoping it was just rainwater, or at worst beer, and not someone’s piss. Crinkling her nose, she shook her foot, and kept an eye on the floor until she reached the bar.

She was trying her best to blend in, keep quiet, and not draw too much attention to herself. She’d kept her hood up to cover her hair because even in space it stood out, but she still felt the weight of stares landing her way.

“Cider. Longfruit,” she told the bartender, swiping her creditchip on the side of the register. She frowned at the price, but there was nothing she could do about it. They always charged ridiculous amounts along the trade route. As she waited for her drink she turned and observed her surroundings. Music played in the background, adding to the overall noise of the place. The room was fairly busy, with groups of patrons huddled around an eclectic collection of tables. There weren’t really any tables free at all, although one booth in the back corner by the window looked fairly empty. She took a step to the left to get a better look and froze, realising that the man sitting in the booth was watching her.

There was something about his gaze that pinned her to the spot and had blood rushing to her cheeks — and other places. He was handsome, with sharp features and olive skin, and eyes that were both dark and piercing. His hair was black and rose upwards from a severe widow’s peak in spikes above his head.

“Hey lady, here’s your drink.”

“Oh, thanks,” she muttered, turning back to take her drink from the bartender. He’d overfilled the glass, and she had to stand there awkwardly taking a sip over the counter to avoid spilling it on herself. All the while she felt the eyes of the man in the corner staring at her, and when she looked over her shoulder she met his dark gaze once more.

She realised now why he had shocked her. He was the first man she’s met in almost two years that looked remotely Human; all the others in the bar, the others that she worked with, everyone in her new miserable life were alien, and very obviously so. If this man cut his hair, he’d pass for a Human. Unbidden, a memory of her first meeting with Cooler came back to her. He’d told her Humans looked _“just like those filthy Saiyan monkeys, only in blue,”_ and she’d informed him that Humans came in many shades, and that she had no idea what a Saiyan was.

_A near extinct race. The last of them work for my little brother, Frieza._

That alone should have been a warning to her, but as she took another sip of her drink she dared to turn back around and face his way. Perhaps he was a Saiyan, whatever that meant. She lifted her glass in greeting to him, and watched as he quirked an eyebrow, his expression amused. Feeling emboldened, she crossed the room, weaving in between tables until she stood over him. “Is anybody sitting here?” she asked, gesturing to the empty seat opposite him.

“Does it look like it?” He still didn’t smile, but there was something in the way his lips curved around the words, and the look in his eye, that told her he was amused.

His voice was both deeper and smoother than she expected, a rich tone that she wanted to hear more of. “No,” she replied, putting down her glass and shrugging off her outer coat. “It’s just a polite way of letting you know I’m going to take this seat.” She didn’t miss the way his eyes widened just a fraction as he caught sight of her blue hair, now free of it’s covering. She’d cut it just last night, spending a ridiculous amount of time getting the shoulder-length bob right. She also didn’t miss the way he eyed her figure as she slid into the booth; under her coat she’d worn her tight-fitting thermal gear to help with the cold, and both the grey top and pants clung to her curves.

She slid across the vinyl chair until she sat flush against the window, accidentally kicking the handsome stranger’s shins under the table in the process. “Sorry!” she laughed, seeing the way he tensed his shoulders in reaction. He wore a thin rainproof jacket, and she could see the outlines of muscle underneath, and the telltale spandex that peeked just above the collar of his jacket. He was a fighter, she was sure of it now. Probably a PTO soldier. Probably really, really bad news. But her life had gone to shit two years ago, and it really couldn’t get any worse, so she didn’t care.

Besides, she dealt with Planet Trade Organisation soldiers almost every day. How bad could this guy be?

* * *

 

Vegeta had just needed a night to himself. Spending the good part of a year solely in Nappa and Raditz’ company had driven him near insane, and he’d ordered they stop here to ‘collect supplies’. Really, he’d just wanted them gone, and gone they had, off to the nearest brothel, leaving him in peace.

The bar he’d found was dark and dirty, but the other patrons left him alone, and the barmaid that circulated the room kept his glass full. He didn’t usually drink, but in a place like this he felt safe enough to let his guard down a little. Besides, Saiyans metabolized alcohol quickly, like everything else, and it took a lot to get him drunk.

As he sat in the bar, slowly drying out, he felt a sense of calm descend on him — one that he rarely experienced. Here, in this dull place, he was just another stranger in the room. No one here knew he'd just completed a 10 planet purging mission. No one feared him. No one paid him any attention.

It was an odd thought for a Prince who was proud of his strength, of his people, and his identity, to think. He shook his head, not in the mood to psychoanalyse himself right now. All he knew is that he was tired, and this _peace_ that he felt now was something he wanted to savour.

He refused to think about the fact that in two days time, his small ship would rendezvous with Frieza's cruiser. He didn't want to think about the fact that he was one of only three Saiyans left. He didn't want to long for Vegetasei tonight.

He just wanted to sit in this bar, without interruption, and drink until he'd had his fill.

He was nursing his third glass of poor-quality beer when the bar’s door opened with a bang against the inside wall, the latest newcomer clearly not controlling it in the wind. He watched as the small figure crossed the room, stopping halfway to curse and shake _her_ — he was sure it was female from the voice — foot after standing in a puddle of Blanta urine (he’d unfortunately borne witness to the Blanta pissing everywhere earlier).

Vegeta was curious; there weren’t too many females that travelled alone along the northern trade route. There _were_ other females in the bar, if you could count the four-armed things that hung around the local traders, or the bug-eyed, hose-mouthed, antennae wielding barmaid. Neither of those options were ever to Vegeta’s taste. Briefly, he wondered if Nappa and Raditz had fared any better at the brothel, or if they were currently fucking something with the face of a fly.

The female ordering at the counter did _not_ have the face of a fly. Her hood remained securely around her head, but the face half-hidden beneath it was delicate and pretty , and entirely out of place in this setting. She caught him staring at her, and he held her gaze, interested as to why she was here of all places.

He watched her sip her drink awkwardly over the counter, and deduced that she was no warrior, clearly lacking the motor skills to carry it without spilling it. She seemed aware of him, at least, turning back to face him once more. She lifted her drink in greeting and he couldn’t help but think that the night might end up more interesting than he expected. He hadn’t intended to find a woman to fuck here, but perhaps…

She approached, close enough that he could smell her, clean and sweet and floral. Her skin was milky white, her eyes bright blue like a nebula. He was perhaps a little more tipsy than he realised. “Is anybody sitting here?” Her accent was… different. She hadn’t grown up speaking Standard, then.

“Does it look like it?”

“No.” That amused her. She took off her coat and he sat shocked by her colouring, her straight hair an exotic blue that made her eyes appear even brighter. “It’s just a polite way of letting you know I’m going to take this seat.”

Fuck, she had a decent body, too. Soft — no muscle definition whatsoever — but almost Saiyan looking in shape. Her breasts were far bigger than a Saiyan’s, though. She kicked him with her piss-coated boots as she slid into the seat, and laughed through her apology.

Where the hell had this woman come from?

“Are you just here for the night?” she asked, taking another sip of her drink. Her blue eyes blinked prettily at him.

“Yes. This is just a refuelling stop.”

“Same here.” She glanced away from him, staring out the window for a moment as a flash of lightning snaked its way across the sky. “Not the best weather outside, huh?” she said conversationally, humour dancing in her eyes.

“It’s the shittiest planet for a trading post,” he replied.

She grinned in agreement. “That’s what I always say! Who the fuck thought this place was a good idea? And now we’re all stuck using it to get from anywhere out to the Tenth Sector.”

“I’m travelling to the First.” He kicked himself for offering that information. Between the pretty face and his drink, his tongue was getting loose.

“Oh.” If she thought anything of it, she didn’t say. Silence stretched between them, and he watched her as she turned her head, her eyes gliding across the room. He got the feeling that she was intelligent; he could almost see her mind working away. “I think they’ve picked this furniture up from different planets,” she told him, pointing to a tall table in the centre of the room with odd legs that curled in on themselves. “I’m pretty sure that’s Alosynnian, from the design.”

He grunted in agreement. She was probably right. Junkers would be trading leftover goods from purges left, right, and centre. “And where’s this piece of stunning architecture from, then?” he asked sarcastically, rapping his bare knuckles against the strange material of the table they sat at.

She looked down, and he watched her expression fall for a moment, before she met his gaze with a forced smile. “Earth. The table is made of fibreglass, and the seats are PVC fabric, and that,” she added, pointing to a mess of symbols etched into the surface, “says ‘Go fuck yourself’ in an Earth language.”

 _Earth_. He hadn’t heard of it, and the way she spoke told him that it probably wasn’t called Earth anymore.

“Your home planet?”

She took a deep swig of her drink, finishing off the glass. “Not my current home,” she told him, avoiding his gaze. For a moment her eyes looked glassy, but she blinked and waved the barmaid over, and the look was gone.

The fly-faced barmaid refilled their glasses. Vegeta laughed quietly, reminded anew about the prostitutes Nappa and Raditz were probably dealing with.

“What’s so funny?”

He paused, thinking through his words carefully, lest he give more away than he should. “My colleagues are at the local brothel. With local women. _She’s_ a local,” he added, nodding towards the barmaid.

The woman in front of him laughed quietly, her full lips curling in a smile, her cheeks growing pink. She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “And you weren’t tempted to join them?”

“I thought I might find better company here.”

“Lucky I came in, then.”

 _That_ was an invitation, if ever he heard one. “Very lucky,” he murmured, keeping his eyes trained on her as he drank most of his glass in a few big swigs. She grinned in return, blue hair falling about her face as she shook her head. She took a swig of her drink, then another, and another, downing the glass without stopping. She took a deep breath at the end, shooting him a determined look.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ve got better drinks back at my ship. It’s at the nearest port.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. He nodded, rising, and waited for her to slide back out of the seat and don her coat. He followed her, almost bumping into her when she stopped abruptly in the entranceway. “Sorry, just have to —”. She clicked something on her wristband, and for a moment he swore he saw her body shimmer. He shook his head, wondering if the alcohol here was stronger than he realised.

He didn’t have a hood — they never sat well over his hair, anyway — and the heavy rain had him soaked within seconds. It ran down inside the collar of his jacket. At least he didn’t have his armour on; water tended to pool in there, and that was the worst.

The woman looked surprisingly steady, despite the wind and rain. She laughed at him. “You’re drenched!” she yelled, as if he didn’t know that already. He shook his head, following her. “I’m testing something!” she yelled again over the rain. She clearly didn't have good hearing if she thought that level of volume was necessary. “It’s a prototype, but it’s working!”

“What?”

“A forcefield! I’m not getting wet!” she yelled again, pointing to her face. He stopped her, grabbing her arm and peering at her face, and just as she said, her face was dry, the raindrops running down a forcefield that sat like an invisible layer over her skin.

Vegeta blinked, noticing the rain had suddenly stopped hitting him too. It was still howling around them, and he looked to where he held her arm. He could just see the shimmer of the forcefield running up his arm.

“Oh! Shit, it’s extended to you!” she said, laughing. “It’s even better than I thought! Here!” She pulled her arm away, and the rain hit him once more. She laughed again, and grabbed his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. The rain stopped again, and her hand felt cold and fragile in his.

“Where did you get this?”

Her blue eyes danced over his face as she looked at him. She was only slightly shorter, and leaned forward suddenly, her lips brushing against his jaw. “I wish I could say,” she spoke into his ear. “I can’t, sorry. You understand, right?”

Whatever her little device was would fetch him high praise with Frieza, but in that moment he wanted her more, and so he let it go. Besides, he could always swipe it from her later, and the techs could figure it out. “Where is your ship?”

“This way.” She tugged on his hand and he let her guide him along, ignoring how ridiculously lovesick he would look to anyone watching. He just wanted a good fuck, and if holding her damn hand would get him there, well then that’s what it would take.

* * *

 

Bulma pulled him up the ship’s ramp, not missing the way his eyes landed and stayed trained on the PTO insignia on the side of her ship. Once inside, she let go of him and took off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. The ship sealed closed with a hiss, and she shivered, adjusting to the temperature inside.

She half expected him to ask her about the PTO, but he didn’t. In a way it confirmed to her that he was PTO himself. He hadn’t asked for her name, and she hadn’t asked for his, and she got the feeling that he both valued his own and respected her privacy. She watched him take off his jacket, and bit her lip as she eyed the body that had been hiding beneath. _Oh lordy_. She leaned back against the wall, blatantly staring. He was built like a Greek God; lean and muscular, abs for days, with an ass she literally wanted to _bite_ , all wrapped up in blue spandex. He had a tail too; it had been wrapped around his waist, but now it unfurled and curled slowly behind him.

The boots confirmed it — white with gold tips, they were standard issue PTO gear. She was going to fuck a soldier tonight, and _oh boy_ was she ready for it.

He cleared his throat and she blushed, laughing off how embarrassingly desperate she was acting. “You look nice,” she told him.

“ _Nice_ is not the usual word people use when they describe me,” he replied, his voice a little deeper, a little more gravelly now, and it practically melted her.

“I don’t care how they describe you,” she told him honestly. “I just want a really good _long_ fuck.”

He chuckled, moving faster than she ever could to stand in front of her. “Now _that_ , I can help you with,” he told her, pushing her back against the wall. He was blazing warm, his hair still damp from the rain, and he was hard already, his cock pressing against her lower belly. It made her ache even more; the need to be _filled_ driving her insane.

His lips were full, his lashes long and dark. He was beautiful, really, in a very alien way. She realised she didn’t even know _what_ he was, but as he pressed his forehead to hers and struck her with his black gaze she didn’t care. She took a deep breath, breathing in his scent, a heady mix of musk and spice that was absolutely divine. “What can I call you?” she asked quietly.

She could see the hesitation in his eyes, the guardedness that he’d worn so far more prevalent now. “V,” he told her. “My initial. And you? Give me a name.”

“B.”

“Anything else you need to know suddenly?”

“Oh, nothing really. Your age, height, weight, date of birth, name of your first pet. Just the usual.”

“Of course.” His hands had found her ass, and squeezed her gently there. “I’ll give you the first one. Thirty. And no pets.”

“No pets, _ever_. Geez. Twenty-nine, so we’re almost the same age. My cat was called Muffin.”

“Muffin. How fucking ridiculous. Can’t say I’m surprised. You have that crazy cat lady look about you. I had Saibamen, does that count?”

She ran her hands over his wide shoulders. “Did you kill them, your Saibamen?”

“ _Every single one._ ”

“Then they don’t count.”

“Hn. Enough talking,” he rumbled in her ear. Ooh, his voice alone was enough to make her wet. _But I love your voice_ , she almost wanted to say. He could say absolute nonsense and she’d still listen to it.

She tilted her chin back and sighed, closing her eyes as he bent his head and brushed his lips against her neck. She curled her arms around him, her palms flat, revelling in the feel of pure strength under her hands. The thought that he was a soldier, and therefore a purger, flitted briefly into her mind and she pushed it away, digging her nails into his back. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

He practically growled against her neck, mouthing it in a way that made her core ache in anticipation. His teeth scraped her skin, biting gently, and she moaned loudly. She kissed at his neck, found his earlobe with her teeth and bit down _hard_ , and was rewarded with a delicious chuckle and an eager thrust of his hips.

His hands slid under her ass, lifting her, and she spread her legs, wrapping them around his waist. Her lips found his mouth and she moaned into him as he ground against her, his dick _so fucking hard_ against her through the fabric of their clothes. She was going to be bruised tomorrow, she was sure of it, but she didn’t care, tilting her hips against him while her tongue explored his mouth.

One of his hands was in her hair now, tugging her head back as he dominated their kiss. His lips were softer than she expected, but the way he kissed her was just as hard as she thought he’d be. She ran her hands through his hair too, loving how soft it felt in her hands. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, those black eyes filling her vision as their kiss broke.

She brushed her hands down the side of his face. His skin was smooth, his dark brows severe and striking, and here in the bright light she could see the subtle difference in colour between his irises and his pupils that were blown wide with desire. That was such a Human trait that she grinned, licking her bruised lips. “Let me show you where the bedroom is,” she whispered.

He set her down on shaky legs, and she led him through to the back of the ship, where her makeshift bedroom lay. The other two designated bedrooms were currently being used as labs, and she made sure not to accidentally open the doors on her way through. She did not want him snooping around in there. It had been a mistake to show him her weather guard, but it was too late now.

Her bedroom was plain; just a bed (practically half the size that she used to have — _hell_ she missed her California King), a small closet, and a doorway that opened through to a small ensuite.

He was hot on her heels, his hands brushing her hips. She turned to face him and he caught her with a searing kiss that left her hot and breathless. It pained her to break it off.

“Can you just give me a minute?” she asked, gesturing towards the bathroom. He nodded wordlessly, his breathing heavy, and she stepped back out of his grasp and high tailed it to the bathroom.

She closed the door but had a sudden thought, and opened it up again. She didn’t have any protection; no space condoms or anything. She didn’t even know if they existed — the last person she’d slept with was Yamcha, before she left Earth. It was too early in her cycle to worry about pregnancy, but… “Are you clean?”

‘V’ seemed to splutter, his cheeks turning pink. He was _blushing_ , so unlike… well unlike what she thought she knew of him, but given the fact that she’d known him for no more than an hour she supposed that she shouldn’t be that surprised.

“STDs? I don’t want any weird space diseases. You had a medical recently?” she pressed. She just needed a simple _yes_ or _no_ answer.

“I… Yes I am clean. Gods woman, what a thing to ask!”

“It’s important! I’m clean too. You certain?”

His eyes were wide with horror. “I have not… I haven’t _lain_ with anyone since my last medical. I am sure. Are _you_ sure?”

She grinned at him. “Same here! Not since my last medical. I’m sure. Thanks!” She shut the door swiftly, hoping she hadn’t killed the mood too much.

* * *

 

The woman was fucking PTO. He shook his head at the irony of it. He could have been inside his own bedroom right now, because they looked exactly the same! She was flying the same ship as him, and appeared to be alone, despite the fact that it was designed for crews of 3 - 5.

He sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the bathroom door, listening to her take a piss and wondering what the hell she did for the PTO to warrant her flying a craft like this all by herself. She had to be valuable. She wasn’t a soldier, that’s for sure.

He’d never seen her before, and that fact alone had him guessing that they did not share the same superior. He sneered around the thought; she had to be one of Cooler’s. They were all part of the same overarching organisation, but Frieza and Cooler barely acted that way. He was forbidden from associating with any of Cooler’s men (or women). Not that he cared about Frieza’s paranoid rules, but he didn’t want the beating he’d get if Frieza found out.

 _Fucking lizard_ , he thought bitterly. _Shit._

He wouldn’t ask her, and he wouldn’t answer if she asked who he worked for. She knew he was PTO too; he could tell. He wondered if she was having the same thoughts behind her bathroom door. He snorted. ‘A minute’ had turned into five, at least.

Finally she emerged. He turned his head towards her and his mouth fell open in shock. She stood naked in the doorway, a fucking goddess painted in cream and blue before him. Her figure looked even better without her clothes on, her breasts round and full, her waist tiny, her hips flaring out in a perfect hourglass. She looked like one of the girls from Nappa’s secret pinup collection.

Vegeta’s mouth felt dry. He was usually the one in power in these situations but now felt lost for words. He’d lain with women before, but none… none like this.

She crossed the room and he stood, and helped her peel off his spandex wordlessly, throwing his boots off, until he was just as naked as her. His cock ached with a need that was echoed in her eyes and the scent of her arousal.

She ran her hands down his body until she grasped his cock, and his tail curled around on its own accord, brushing against her hip, running up to curl over her breasts. She held still, her breathing shallow, as her right hand squeezed around him tight, pumping him slowly and making him want to bury himself in her then and there.

“Can I touch your tail?”

He placed it in her left hand. “Gentle,” he warned, but she seemed to know what she was doing, running her fingers down through his fur in a way that made him shudder.

Then she knelt before him and took him in her mouth, her intelligent eyes smiling up at him, and he hissed out a sigh, having never known such pleasure before.

* * *

 

He was hairless. It was a strange thing to observe, but with her mouth wrapped around his erection she couldn’t help but notice. She figured it was just one more alien thing about him. He let her push him backwards with a palm on his stomach, until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he sat down abruptly, pulling out of her mouth. She smiled and kissed the inside of his thigh, eyeing his dick — it was big and thick, and everything she’d hoped for. She cupped his balls in one hand as she wrapped her lips around him once more and sucked hard, and the sound he’d made was so undeniably sexy that it was hard to resist jumping on his dick then and there. She didn’t, but watched him as best as she could, gauging his reaction as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, pulling her off of him and lifting her up. He carried her with ease, as if she weighed nothing, and lay her back on the bed. He was both rough and gentle with his movements, and she loved it, running her hands down his sculpted chest as he paused above her. His tail had curled around one of her legs, spreading her before him.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, and he smirked, bending his head to place a chaste kiss on her breast. She let out a groan of frustration and he flashed her a malicious grin, before taking her nipple in his mouth, the flick of his tongue making her cry out. His hand slid down her front, squeezing her other breast before dipping down to the juncture of her thighs. She spread her legs wide, moaning as his fingers slid between her folds.

“Fuck, you are so wet,” he told her, shifting backwards until he sat back on his haunches between her spread thighs. She bit her lips as he examined her, his fingers gliding over her oh so softly. When he brushed over her clit she gasped again, and he paused, his black eyes trained on her face. “Is this the spot?” he asked quietly, and flicked his finger back and forth.

“Yes!” she moaned, biting her lip as she kept her eyes trained on him. Fuck, if he kept this pace up, it wouldn’t take long at all for her to come. “Don’t stop,” she begged, closing her eyes and throwing her head back as her legs began to tremble.

He did stop, but only to lower his head, his tongue swiping tentatively over her clit. She cried out again, louder than before, and felt him smile against her. “You like this.”

“Yes!” She bucked her hips until he grasped her thighs with strong hands, holding her down as he licked, and then _he sucked her clit_ , and she lost it, crying out as her pleasure crested in a wave that spread up and over her body.

He was leaning over her once more, whispering in her ear. “I’m going to fuck you right now,” he told her, and she turned her head in answer, kissing him hard on the mouth and tasting herself.

He slid inside with a groan, thrusting deep, burying himself to the hilt, and she threw her head back again. She was going to come again, she was sure of it. He kissed her roughly, pounding into her, his pace unforgiving, and all she could do was cling on for the ride, digging her nails into his back.

He seemed to like that, moaning into her violence. He sat up, pulling her with him, lifting her effortlessly once more, all the while keeping his relentless pace. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he somehow got them off the bed and walked over to a wall, pressing her back against the cold metal.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his thrusts even deeper now, his breathing as ragged as her own. She held his gaze, grasped at his tail, and the intensity of his stare, coupled with everything else, had her coming undone again, clenching around him.

“Shit,” he grunted, his movements becoming erratic, and he groaned with a final deep thrust and a shudder, coming in her.

He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, his arms still holding her legs around him. She felt boneless and utterly satisfied, and yet she wasn’t ready to let this one go.

“Why don’t you stay here for the night?” she whispered once she’d caught her breath, kissing his earlobe. “I want to do this again before you go.”

“Hn,” he grunted in what she assumed was assent. He set her down and she dragged him towards the bed, and they both collapsed on the covers.

* * *

 

Bulma woke to the sound of an alarm. She sat up straight, yelling “What?!” before realising what was going on. The mystery man she’d picked up the night before, who’d given her the best sex ever, was sitting beside her, a serious expression on his face. His tail lay curled in her lap, and she felt it tense and the ringing continued.

The sound stopped for a few seconds, before starting again. Someone really wanted to reach this guy. She recognised the sound as a standard scouter ringtone, and licked her lips, tossing up whether to say anything.

“You should probably answer your scouter.” She never was one to hold her tongue.

He huffed, leaping off the bed and landing halfway across the room. She watched as he padded down the hall naked, his body just as glorious in the morning as it had been last night.

She lay back down with a sigh, staring at the ceiling as she strained to listen to his conversation. It was naughty of her, but she was curious. She couldn't hear it clearly anyway, just the deep baritone of his voice. He sounded pissed off.

She sat up again as he came padding back down the hall. He didn’t say anything, but reached for his clothes on the floor, and she let out an involuntary sound, making him pause and look at her.

She blushed. “You don’t want to stay for a shower?” she asked, hating herself for being so blatantly obvious in her want for him. She climbed out of bed, walking over to the bathroom and peering at him over her shoulder. “Come on. One more round for the road.”

* * *

 

He slapped her ass as he buried himself deep in her, and she squealed, her hands slipping on the vanity he’d bent her over. “Careful,” he hissed, catching her around the torso with his tail. She panted and begged for more, and he slapped her again, oh so gently, but enough for her to feel it.

He slid the tip of his tail down her stomach, to the juncture of her thighs where that little nub was that he’d discovered last night. She mewled with pleasure as he applied pressure, gasping and shifting back against him.

She turned her head, watching him fuck her in the mirror that lined the wall from floor to ceiling. Gods, she was a horny little creature. He watched her, watched as she came with a cry, watched himself in the mirror as he pounded into her, her breasts bouncing, feeling her clench around him. It was too much, and he pushed deeper, spilling himself in her tight little hole, his heart feeling as if it were about to explode.

He slid out of her and placed her down gently, his eyes and hands still roaming over her body. He wanted to remember this. In his shitty life, this stood out as one of those particularly _good_ things. He didn’t want to leave.

She turned in his hands, pressing her body flush against his, and kissed him slowly, her hands running over his face, through his hair, down his neck and shoulders until she pulled away from him. She bit her lip, her blue eyes thoughtful as she looked at him once more. “I’ll let you clean up,” she told him, and the smile she gave him now was not as brilliant as the one she wore the night before.

When he was dressed she walked behind him down the corridor and back to the main entrance of the ship. She was clad now in her bedsheet, and yet she managed to look regal, the queen of her own space. “You know the layout of this ship already, don’t you?” she asked suddenly.

He felt himself tense at the question. She was watching him carefully, her head cocked slightly in thought. “I have one just like it.”

“Hmm.” She nodded, pressing the button to open the door, and leaned forward to kiss him once more. “Thank you.”

“For a good fuck?”

“For not asking too many questions.” She leaned against the doorframe, the howling wind outside ruffling her hair and the sheet she wore. “I’m glad I met you, V.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply nodded. Halfway down the ramp he turned, smirking back up at her. “Thanks for a good fuck.”

He walked away, the rain still pouring down, listening to the sound of her laughter being stolen by the wind.

BONUS: Here's HannaBellLecter's alien posters in the bar scene, translated by her... I loved this idea when she sent them to me but we decided to keep the original posters in an alien text:


	2. Two

 

Bulma watched Planet Cold grow closer through her personal viewport on the behemoth space cruiser that was Cooler’s ship. A shiver ran down her spine at the sight of the icy planet below. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous.

“You need to calm down, Bulma. I can sense ze tension from _here_ ,” Salza told her as he approached, coming to stand beside her. He was about her size, his skin the same colour as her hair, and sported a wild crop of blonde hair that he’d tamed down into a formal que for the occasion. She was a captive within Cooler’s army, and she knew deep down that as second-in-command Salza had _something_ to do with the invasion of Earth just over two years ago, but right now he was the closest thing she had to a friend.

“I just have a bad feeling.”

“Why? You’re Cooler’s prized pet!” He laughed, his grin mocking. “Cooler cannot _wait_ to show you off to his father and little brother. You, a beautiful woman who is also ze genius behind so many new inventions! You have helped increase ze profits so substantially in two years, you should enjoy ze attention.”

She took a deep breath, doing her best to ignore the nausea in her gut. “Let’s just get this show on the road, huh?”

“Zat is more like it,” Salza grinned, and offered her his arm. She took it, feeling the weight of the heavy earrings she wore, stolen from a planet now named Cooler 143. Her dress, a sparkling icy blue number with long sleeves and a high collar, had been hand-beaded by artisans forced into slavery. She hated all of it.

They walked side by side, out of her quarters and down the curving hallway to the main deck, where Cooler usually sat on his throne. A self-proclaimed Emperor, the bastard was a monster that haunted her dreams, but she had no choice but to kiss ass every time she saw him.

“Bulma,” he drawled as she bowed before him. “You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she replied with a forced smile. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

Cooler threw his head back and barked out a laugh, wine spilling from his glass onto the white tiles below. “This is why you are my favourite,” he said. “You don’t hold your tongue, despite being the weakest creature on board. So refreshing after all these years surrounded by such _dull_ characters.”

Salza’s arm tensed under hers, and she gave his hand a small squeeze. She knew he hated feeling like he was being overlooked. “I’m glad I can provide you with some entertainment,” she told Cooler.

“Yes,” Cooler nodded, rising from his throne. He stood well over six feet tall, and she forced herself to stand still as he approached her, though she jerked her head back before he could grab at her chin as he sometimes did.

“Don’t mess with the makeup,” she said quickly, seeing irritation flash in his eyes. He was used to getting what he wanted. “It took me a good hour to apply.”

“Hm. You look the same to me,” he said, turning away from her as one of his lackeys fixed his ceremonial armour and cape to him. Salza’s hand now gripped her tightly, and she imagined he’d call her insane right about now.

“All right,” Cooler ordered. “That’s enough faffing about. Have we landed yet? I’m eager to get this party started.” He addressed her once more. “Aren’t you excited, my dear Bulma? This is your first ball!”

He lips stretched wide in a grin. “I’m ecstatic.”

 

* * *

 

Frieza was in a mood, and that put Vegeta on edge. He fucking hated these biannual balls on King Cold’s planet, a blatant attempt by the Planet Trade Organisation to drum up support, bring more warrior races on board to fuel the army, and to advertise to potential and existing clients.

Usually Vegeta hung back from the main celebrations, blending in with all the other soldiers from both Frieza’s and Cooler’s armies. But in the past two years he had been promoted to Elite status amongst Frieza’s crew, and although that brought with it many perks, such as his own ship for the three remaining Saiyans, it also meant he could not just _disappear_ on the night of the ball. Instead he was stuck trailing Frieza’s tail, with Zarbon, Dodoria, and Ginyu for company, as they made their way through to the main ballroom.

Frieza was pissed because Cooler had outperformed him on profits again, and this time the margin between the two brothers had been huge. It made no sense; Frieza’s army had a far higher percentage of stronger soldiers, and overall the army’s purges had surpassed even the predicted outputs. It pissed Vegeta off too; he didn’t like to lose to anyone, and now they were here, where Cooler would no doubt rub it in all of their faces.

The ballroom’s massive doors opened wide before them, and they strode in. Vegeta had to force himself to not sneer at the way Frieza transformed from Absolute Prick to Smiling and Accommodating Host in front of the guests — politicians and billionaires, mostly. Vegeta held his head high and nodded briefly at those who acknowledged him; he’d worn armour with the Royal Crest of Vegetasei on it, and a larger version of the red and orange cape he once wore as a child. Frieza had given him a chilling look when he’d climbed aboard their transport, but hadn’t said anything about it.

He could see Cooler, the taller of the two brothers, in the centre of the room, standing alongside Frieza’s father, King Cold. They were both engaged in conversation with someone, though Vegeta could not see who through the crowd of people. Frieza’s presence was enough to part the way, though, and Vegeta nearly missed a step when he saw who stood between the two towering Colds.

 _Her._ ‘B’. The woman he’d thought about every fucking day for the past month.

King Cold spotted Frieza and called out to him, but Vegeta ignored all the pleasantries being paid by his overlords. He stood back from the group, his eyes trained on B, and saw the moment she noticed him. Her skin seemed to grow even more pale, her lips — painted red — parting in a silent ‘o’.

She looked even more like a goddess, dressed in silver and blue, with her ridiculously bright hair pulled back and piled high above her head. He wondered who she was here for — Cooler, or could it be King Cold himself? He wondered what the hell she did to earn such a position as a private conversation with two out of the three overlords.

“Frieza!” Cooler smiled, his tone commanding enough that even Vegeta paid attention. “I have to introduce you to someone. This is Bulma Briefs, my _Chief Scientist_. She is a genius! She makes all sorts of inventions!”

Vegeta stared at her — at Bulma Briefs — while Frieza sneered a smile. “How charming.”

“No, you don’t understand, baby brother,” Cooler continued. “You are always just the same — more muscles, more brawn in your army. No wonder your profits just tick along with no real _growth_ . Bulma’s inventions have _revolutionised_ how my army works. We have saved so much money, just in shipping! Can you believe it! I have the weaker army, but the most success. She’s my secret weapon, aren’t you, my dear?”

Vegeta had watched Bulma throughout Cooler’s monologue, observing the way her eyes had flitted from Frieza to Cooler to Cold, and back to Frieza with horror at the way Cooler was goading him. Now she smiled up at her master. “My mind is my weapon,” she said. She ignored Vegeta completely.

“Congratulations,” Frieza replied, no hint of a smile on his face now. “It’s always nice to see weaklings useful for something.”

“I think it’s time for dinner!” King Cold announced. “Come, all of you lot; we’ll dine at the head table.”

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t believe it.

She’d known the man had been PTO when she slept with him, but not an _Elite_. From the look on his face as he took his seat on the table directly opposite her, he had not expected her to be an Elite, either.

He looked handsome, regal, even, with shiny armour and a red cape. She found it hard to look away from his gaze, which was dangerous given the present company. Especially because she kept remembering him naked, leaning over her, his hands on her waist as he…

She cut the thought off abruptly, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. She took a large sip from her wine glass to hide it, but she could see the way Vegeta noticed, could see the thoughts turning in his mind. _Kami,_ how the hell would she get through this?

Leaning forward, she directed her conversation to all three men that had accompanied Frieza, lest her interest in Vegeta seem suspicious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names. I’m Bulma.”

The green-skinned pretty-boy smiled at her, his golden eyes cold. “Bulma,” he repeated with the same drawling tone both Cooler and Frieza used. “How lovely to meet such a valued member of Cooler’s staff. My name is Zarbon, and this is Vegeta, and Dodoria.”

_Vegeta._

“Prince Vegeta,” Vegeta corrected in clipped words, his black eyes hard under the harsh light of the room.

“Prince? You’re royalty?”

Beside him, Dodoria laughed. “Former Prince, morelike. There’s only three of the Saiyan bastards left in the universe.”

Bulma watched the way Vegeta’s shoulders tensed as Dodoria spoke. “Forgive me,” she addressed Dodoria, “but I don’t think that’s how monarchies work. Once given the title of Prince, it is there for life. After all, King Cold and his sons are royalty, aren’t they?” she added, referring to the fact that they Colds were also from a near-extinct race.

Zarbon hissed, leaning across the table. “Careful!” he muttered between clenched teeth. “Some might hear you!” Beside her, Salza shifted in his seat, nudging her with his elbow.

“Zarbon is right. You should be more discreet!”

“How are you getting on down there?” King Cold asked from the other end of the table. Between herself and the Colds sat a number of current political leaders from across the galaxy. Sitting amongst some of the strongest warriors in the galaxy, most of their expressions ranged from mildly afraid to absolutely fucking terrified, no doubt forced to attend the ball just like everyone else.

“Well, thank you,” she replied, flashing Cold her most charming smile.

“Splendid!”

 

* * *

 

The food was plentiful, and the drink flowing. Bulma had already had one glass of wine before dinner — to ease the nerves — and was almost at the bottom of her second. It made her feel more relaxed, but she was well aware that she couldn’t afford to have too much more. Surrounded by super-powerful aliens wasn’t the safest place to be. She ate slowly, watching with amazement as Vegeta continued to eat at a non-stop, frantic pace.

“Ugh,” Salza groaned beside her. “Saiyans and their filthy eating habits.”

Vegeta paused, shooting Salza a dark glare, a drumstick from some sort of giant bird held halfway to his mouth. “Careful,” he growled, baring his teeth in warning, and for the first time Bulma felt as if she were seeing the ‘not nice’ version he’d alluded to the first time they met.

“What?” Salza bit back. “Did I hurt your precious feelings?”

“Boys!” Bulma interjected, literally throwing her hand in front of Salza’s face to get Vegeta’s attention. “Can’t we just get along?

Beside Vegeta, Zarbon laughed, his tone mocking. “Are you really that naïve?”

She shook her head, frowning at him. “I like to call it hopeful,” she replied. “We’re at a party, after all, not a fighting tournament.”

“Oh god!” Dodoria groaned, his large pink body shuddering. “Do not mention the ‘T’ word! The last time someone did that, we ended up stuck on this planet for an extra month because _someone_ got excited!” He gestured towards the head of the table, where King Cold sat. “That was back when little Vegeta was just runt,” he added, elbowing Vegeta roughly. Vegeta looked like he wanted to murder someone, his face turning red. “Remember, kid. You got smashed by Cooler’s former guard so bad we thought you were a goner.”

“Right,” Bulma nodded, catching Vegeta’s eye. She wondered if he felt just as trapped as she did.

 

* * *

 

It was during the dessert course that she got into an argument with Vegeta herself. She didn’t know how they got there, only that one moment they were eating relatively quietly, and the next minute they were practically yelling at each other across the table.

“You’re an _idiot_ if you fly a 71 speeder through an asteroid field like that. The controls are not sensitive enough,” she told him.

“Or perhaps it’s just _particular pilot’s_ lack of fine motor skills and their poor reaction time that’s the problem?” he shot back. “I can fly a 71 fine in _any_ conditions.”

“ _Bullshit._ And what the hell do you mean, lack of fine motor skills? I’m a scientist with a specialty in engineering and mechanics! Everything I do requires fine motor skills!”

“You are the clumsiest creature I have ever met! When I first saw you I —”

Vegeta cut his words off mid-sentence, his eyes widening for an instant, and she knew he’d almost blown wide the fact that they had met before. She leaned forward, doing her best to maintain an angry facade, despite the fact that his slip-up had rattled her. If Cooler found out that she’d met with him before, he’d beat her so bad she’d be in a regen tank for a month. “I _know_ you saw me trip on my dress back there, but that’s one incident. Hardly enough to define me as the clumsiest person you’ve ever come across!”

She saw relief flash in his eyes, and smirked. _You owe me, buddy,_ she thought, her heart hammering in her chest. For his part, he played along with her ruse nicely.

“On Vegetasei, women who tripped over dresses would have been executed for being weak fools. Which is exactly what you are.”

“Well at least I’m not some royal douchebag.”

“What the hell is a douchebag?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“Just shut up and eat your pudding.”

“You should do the same!”

She did take a big spoonful of her pudding then, biting down on it before she went with her urge to fling it in his face. She doubted the Colds would appreciate her instigating a food fight.

Vegeta grunted, acting like he’d won the argument (he had not), and they ate in silence once more.

“You crazy bitch,” Salza whispered in her ear. “What ze hell is wrong with you?"

“I’m invincible,” she whispered back, watching Vegeta from the corner of her eye. He could hear her; she could tell by the way he paused before reaching for another cup of pudding. “No one can touch me but Cooler or Cold. Not even Frieza could do anything right now. I’ll say what I want to anyone I want. That’s just how I roll, baby.”

Salza shook his head at her. “ _Crazy,_ ” he whispered again. “Insane woman.”

 

* * *

 

The music increased in volume, signalling the end of the dinner service, and Vegeta cringed. There were still hours of mixing and mingling to go, and he (along with Zarbon and Dodoria) had been ordered to be as charming and polite as possible when selling the PTO’s services to potential clients.

The only positive in all of this was that he was sure there would be some way for him to get to Bulma by the end of the night. She’d been on his mind often since he last saw her, and with her so close he couldn’t resist the opportunity to have her one more time. Her intelligence, quick thinking, and argumentative nature — all things he’d seen more of tonight — only worked to turn him on more. In many ways, she had the personality of a Saiyan.

If only she worked for Frieza; then he’d be guaranteed to fuck her again.

People started rising from their tables, but he chose to sit and wait until most of the crowd had cleared off. Bulma seemed equally content to wait, her expression bored while her delicate fingers played with the rim of her empty wine glass while Zarbon and Salza flirted with each other across the table.

Vegeta decided he couldn’t quite wait, and shifted forward so that his tail unfurled under the table, brushing against Bulma’s ankle. She jerked suddenly, bumping the table, and he froze. When nobody appeared to notice he sighed in relief. “A little jumpy, aren’t you?” he said quietly.

She met his eyes across the table, her breasts rising and falling as she took a deep breath. “This ball isn’t really my thing,” she said calmly. Underneath the table, her foot lifted out of her shoe, brushing back against his tail in a way that made him shudder.

“No?”

“No.” She shifted forward in her chair, her foot finding his knee now. He swallowed as she traced a path up his inner thigh, and then curled her toes over his hard cock. “I used to go to functions like this, back on my home planet,” she told him conversationally, all the while kneading him beneath the table. “But again, that was because I had to. I was the heiress to the largest technological corporation on the planet.”

“You were wealthy.” He snaked his tail around her leg, brushing the underside of her knee.

“I had it all.” She smiled ruefully. He noticed she often smiled to hide how she really felt. “And now I’m here.”

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a yellow-skinned man with bulbous eyes, who suddenly leaned over Bulma. “Sorry to interrupt,” he spoke in a tone that showed he was everything but sorry. “Cooler tells me you’re the inventor of the capsule technology we’ve just contracted to help our move to New Sicanay. I was hoping I could ask for a dance; it’s so rare to meet a woman who has such intelligence.”

Bulma pulled her leg away, and Vegeta reluctantly unwound her tail. He knew her expressions well enough to see how furious she was at this new man’s comments, though again, she smiled at him as well.

“New Sicanay; that’s in the Gorelong System, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Forgive me, I’m King Sicor, of Sicanay. And your name is...?”

“Bulma. Bulma Briefs.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bulma. That dance?”

“Ah, sure.”

Vegeta glared at this King Sicor, a portly old twat, as Bulma rose from her chair and took the man’s hand. She glanced back at Vegeta, the diamonds hanging from her ears glinting in the light, before she was pulled away.

With his hard on officially gone, Vegeta rose from his chair. He spotted a group of women staring at him with lust in their eyes — likely princesses and wives of politicians — and finished the rest of his drink in resignation. It was time to start being _Prince Charming_ , as Frieza had ordered.

 

* * *

 

Bulma grimaced and gently shifted her dance partner’s hands back from her ass to her waist. Cooler was watching her closely, and she realised now that he’d insisted she _look her very best_ so she could spend the evening entertaining clients. It made her sick with anger.

She twirled through another spin and caught sight of Vegeta across the dancefloor, his head bent low and close to an elderly woman’s ear as he spoke. The woman had her talons (claws and all) gripping onto Vegeta’s bicep, and Bulma knew he was probably being used by Frieza for exactly the same purpose. She’d seen him dance with a series of female partners throughout the night, and at one point she came close enough to him to whisper a dramatic “Save me!” in his ear as he whirled past.

It was a relief when the music finally ended, King Cold standing on the bannister above the dance floor to address the crowd in a speech filled with equal parts of propaganda and scaremongering. The crowd cheered as he ended, and she clapped her hands alongside everyone else, wondering how many people in the room actually _believed_ his bullshit.

They had all been giving lodgings for the night within the palace. As an Elite she was entitled to her own room; a luxurious space with a high ceiling, decorated in silver, white and pink, just like the rest of the palace. As the crowd dispersed she felt a hand settle on the small of her back, and turned to find Vegeta beside her. “Quick — your room number?”

“Zero four one,” she whispered back. “Don’t let anyone see you.”

He stepped away as fast as he appeared, but as she made her way back to the table to retrieve her clutch Zarbon approached her, shaking his head.

“Tut tut, _naughty_ Bulma. You like monkey cock, don’t you?” he spoke in her ear.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Careful. That Saiyan boy is bad trouble. And your boss won’t like you sleeping with the enemy.”

She turned to face Zarbon, tilting her chin high to stare into those golden eyes. “Neither will yours. I hope you and Salza have fun.”

She watched his jaw clench, his eyes widening in surprise at being caught out, and shook her head. “Goodnight, Zarbon. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

She followed the crowds back down the hallway to her room, and only once she was back behind the locked door did she breath a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta waited until he could no longer hear footsteps passing his room, then slipped into the corridor. He moved swiftly and silently, eyeing each room number until he found room 41. He tried the door, but it was locked, and gently rapped his knuckles against the marble.

The door opened an inch, and a blue eye stared out at him. He heard her breathe a sigh of relief as she stepped back, opening the door wide. He stepped inside — again, it was a room identical to his! — and she locked the door behind him.

She’d taken off her dress, and wore only a silk robe tied loose around her waist, the outline of her nipples obvious through the pink fabric. Her hair was now loose, too, and she smelled clean and fresh, the cloying scent she’d sprayed on herself for the ball now gone.

“Hi,” she said, her pink lips curving upwards. She had the barest dusting of freckles across her nose — something he’d never noticed before — and he realised she no longer had any paint on her face at all.

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted her, but he wanted to savour her. He still wore his formal armour and cape, and felt overdressed. It was a ridiculous thing to worry about.

“So,” she said, stepping forward until her hands rested on the breastplate of his armour. “I didn’t realise last time that I was fucking the Saiyan Prince.” Her eyes glinted in the soft light as she ran a hand up his neck and into his hair.

“I didn’t realise I was fucking Cooler’s favourite genius. Frieza is pissed that you exist.”

“Hmm. Cooler’s right; he puts too much emphasis on military might and none at all on innovation. But let’s not talk shop.” She fiddled with the shoulder straps of his armour. “How do you take this thing off?”

 

* * *

 

She stretched out beside Vegeta and hummed in satisfaction, nestling her head into the crook of his shoulder. He smelled amazing, and she told him so.

“We smell like sex,” he replied, and she smiled against his skin, planting another kiss on his chest.

“Do Saiyans have a good sense of smell?”

“Define ‘good’.”

“Can you smell blood from a large distance? Say, across the ballroom?”

“You can’t?”

“No.”

He stared at her, shaking his head gently. The pillow rustled under him. “How did your race even survive this long?”

“We’re the apex predators, back on Earth.”

That had Vegeta laughing, a genuine sound that made her soul feel a little lighter. She had the feeling he did not laugh often. “You are the furthest thing from a predator that I’ve ever met,” he told her, still chuckling.

“Hey.” She slapped him gently on the chest, then bit his shoulder playfully. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

He flipped them, pushing her onto her back and pinning her arms down so quickly that it gave her goosebumps. He bent down, his knee pushing her thighs open as he rumbled in her ear, “You are mistaken. I am the hunter here.”

She wiggled her hand and he let go of her wrist, and she placed her palm flat on his chest. “No. We are equals in this bed. Let me show you.” She pushed him, and he acquiesced, rolling onto his back. Slinging her leg over him, she settled herself down on his hard cock, and sighed as he filled her once more. She took his hand, kissed it, and placed it over her clit. “Touch me and let me ride you until we come.”

 

* * *

 

Vegeta wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he liked the weight of her body on top of him. She lay limp, her head on his chest, her legs relaxed between his. He could feel the brush of her lashes on his skin as she closed her eyes.

“You are tired.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want this night to be over.”

He glanced at her, her blue eyes blinking slowly at him. It had to be well past midnight, now.

“It already is,” he told her quietly, brushing a hand through her hair. He’d never seen anyone with this colouring before, and felt as if she bewitched him every time she was near.

She didn’t reply, her body relaxing into sleep. Her breath feathered across his chest, and he tightened his grip on her waist, holding her and wishing — for the briefest moment — that he did not have to let her go.

 

* * *

 

She woke in the pink light of the morning. It filled the room, making everything glow, and if she didn’t hate the Colds so much she would have loved the sight of it.

She rolled over as gently as she could, smiling at Vegeta. His face was relaxed in sleep, the frown he always wore smooth now. She lay there, watching him, until he began to wake.

“Morning, oh handsome Prince.”

He blinked at her in reply, stretching his arms up above him as he yawned, his knuckles brushing the top of the headboard. She eyed his strong biceps, grinning to herself as he rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, giving her a very nice view of his backside.

He had a fresh scar across his back, one that he hadn’t had a month ago. It looked pink and still relatively raw, and reminded her that all was not well in the world.

When he came back to bed she curled up against him, tucking herself under his arm. They had another hour, tops, before he had to leave. “Tell me about your home planet,” she said quietly. She wanted to know more about him.

His tail brushed up and down her spine in a lazy pattern. “Frieza destroyed it,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear. “I was five when it happened.” She sucked in a ragged breath, her heart breaking for him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity.” There was a bitterness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.

“It’s not pity. It’s _empathy._ ”

“I don’t need that either.”

“Everyone needs that,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him tighter. His heart hammered beneath her ear. She’d upset him. She traced a scar on his chest with her finger.

“Earth wasn’t entirely purged.” She told him quietly. She’d done her best not to think about it since it happened, but now the words came tumbling out. “They stopped half way through when they realised Humans were more useful alive.”

“Is that so?”

“They killed most of the children, but they kept the adults as slaves. They found the technology interesting — the technology my family’s company had developed. Cooler visited _in person_. He demanded that I work for him. He took my parents as hostages. I don’t know where they are, but every month I get a video to show they’re still alive.”

Vegeta’s chest rose under her head as he took a deep breath. “I was a hostage, initially.”

Silence stretched out between them. It was filled with tension; she could see now that it had been a mistake to lead their conversation down this track. There were too many bad memories between them when it came to the PTO.

“Hey,” she said, doing her best to sound carefree. “We’ve got about forty minutes. Wanna bang?”

Vegeta rolled onto her, rocking his hips against the juncture of her thighs, his erection hard against her. “Is that even a question?”

 

* * *

 

Bulma lay in bed, watching Vegeta dress. She wanted to tell him that she could figure out a way to meet him again, but the words died in her throat. Their realities were not conducive to romance and affairs of the heart, and she hardly knew him, but —

“I wish —” she did say, and he looked at her, his eyes dark and deep. She was sure she could see longing, in there. “I wish we lived in a different universe. One without Cooler and Frieza. Then I would know that I would see you again.”

Vegeta shook his head, pinning his cape back on his shoulders. “If they did not exist Vegetasei would still be around. I may have been King by now. I would have never met you, or perhaps _I_ would have conquered your planet. I think you forget what I do for my day job.”

She sat up, feeling the sting of his words. “I don’t forget. But maybe you’d be different without Frieza.”

“Saiyans have always been killers,” he spat back, pulling on his white gloves. “Do not comment on things you have no knowledge of. It is not your place to judge or decide who I am or could have been.” He levelled her a dark glare. “One day I will be a Super Saiyan, and then I will take the Colds’ place as the master of the universe.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She tugged the bedsheet up around her, covering her breasts. “Forget about it.”

“Yes, forget about it. _Finally_ you say something intelligent. There is no point in dwelling in the past; you will not survive in this world if you continue to imagine perfect universes and ‘if only’.”

“God, you really are such a dick sometimes.”

“I speak the truth. You have your head in the clouds. I’ve been in the PTO for twenty five years. Cold has been running his operation for a millenium. Nothing ever changes. It’s all a game to him; that’s why he pits his sons against each other.”

“It’s not a crime to have hope.”

“It should be when you’re too weak to do anything about it. You will not escape the Colds. Your brains alone aren’t enough for that.”

Bulma shook her head. “You can speak, saying this bullshit about becoming some Super Saiyan. What the fuck is that, anyway? Cooler’s power level is over a _million_ , and what’s yours — barely thirty thousand I’m guessing?”

Vegeta was snarling at her now, his fists clenching and unclenching. “How dare you —”

“Oh I dare. You better get out, because I’ll keep speaking like that if you continue to insult me. And all because I said I wished I could see you again!”

He disappeared from sight, materialising again right in front of her on the bed. “You are not as invincible as you think, _Bulma._ Be careful, or that pretty little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

“Get OUT!” she screamed, shoving him. He resisted for a moment, a hard wall of muscle, before moving faster than she could see. He stood by the door, his hand on the handle.

“Your parents are dead. Those videos will be old recordings. Surely you’re smart enough to know that.” Then he was gone, the door swinging closed with a bang, leaving her alone in the room.

She jumped out of bed, hot, angry tears running down her face. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling more alone than ever.


	3. Three

Bulma knelt before Cooler. She wanted to scream at him, to cry and ask him why he’d bothered to lie to her for two years. She wanted to claw his eyes out. Her parents were dead; she’d hunted through records of Earth’s purge (records she’d refused to look at until that point), and found the ship they were transported on, and eventually accessed all the recorded videos they’d made of them. Enough for five years worth of ‘hostage motivation.’ They’d been killed shortly after. 

She would never know what happened to her sister Tights; there were no records of her at all.

She’d avoided Cooler as much as possible since that discovery, but now she rose in a smooth motion and gazed at his back, her expression neutral. “My Lord,” she spoke. “I have a request.”

“Hmm.” He turned away from the viewport to face her. “Well come on, let’s hear it.”

“I’ve been looking at improving the capsule designs further, but I need a particular piece of equipment.” This was a blatant lie, but the best excuse she could come up with for getting what she wanted.

“Don’t tell me you need to do  _ another  _ supply run. We just got back from my father’s planet three weeks ago! It will impact on productivity too —”

“My Lord,” she interrupted, daring to lay a hand on his arm. He felt icy to the touch, but she wanted to appeal to him without getting him too angry. “That’s the beauty of it — the part I need is on the ship, in some of the equipment in the medical wing.”

“Well then what’s the problem?”

“I need permission from you. The medics won’t allow me to just go in and take their equipment.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Cooler cursed, a rare occurrence that showed he really was letting his guard down around her. “You!” he yelled at his chief of staff. “Tell the medics to grant Bulma access to any equipment she needs.” He turned back to her. “Anything else?”

“A swipe card so I could actually get into the medical wing would be good.”

“And get her a swipe card already!”

Bulma bowed to Cooler. “Thank you my Lord.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta knelt before Frieza, wondering if it was Nappa’s latest antics in the training gallery that had him being summoned. “My Lord,” he spoke, keeping his eyes lowered. He could hear Frieza’s tail thumping the side of his vehicle, a warning that he was in a particularly bad mood.

“I have a task for you, Vegeta. A mission of sorts.” 

Vegeta rose to his feet. Frieza sat with his back to him. “A mission, sire?” He hated using honorific titles with Frieza, but it was better than the alternative. The last time he’d openly disrespected Frieza, he’d ended up in the regen tank with a  _ broken tail _ of all things. He hadn’t known what pain was up until that point.

“A little birdy told me that at the ball last month, you bedded with that whore scientist Cooler keeps as a pet,” Frieza spat. His chair turned to face Vegeta, his red gaze glaring. “Specifically after I told you not to fraternise with any of Cooler’s men.”

_ Zarbon, _ Vegeta thought.  _ Fucking ass-kissing bastard _ . Vegeta should have known Frieza’s mood had something to do with Cooler; ever since the ball Frieza had been even more on edge and demanding than usual. 

And that woman. _ Bulma. _ He should have known she’d be trouble from the moment he met her. For the first month he couldn’t get her out of his head, and for the second, well he still couldn’t get her naked body, or what he did to it, out of his head, but he also had to deal with  _ regret  _ (he loathed to admit it to himself) over how their final meeting had ended.

Still, standing here now in front of Frieza, Vegeta could not help himself. “Well she’s not a  _ man _ ,” he retorted, earning him a slap across the face from Frieza’s tail. He tasted blood, and felt the telltale sting of a split lip.

“You insubordinate little shit,” Frieza hissed. “I would kill you right now if there wasn’t a way to turn this to my advantage. I want her.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Cooler has had an advantage because he has her. Well he can’t have her any more, because I want her. She can make  _ me _ those inventions. You’re going to get her for me, Vegeta.”

Vegeta was speechless. Of all the tasks he could have been asked to do… “You want me to kidnap her.”

“I don’t care what you call it. Bring her to me. You can tell your little whore that she will be given Elite status amongst the Frieza Force. And Vegeta,” Frieza’s tail whipped out once more, wrapping around Vegeta’s neck in a choking grip. “Do not come back empty handed.”

 

* * *

 

Bulma had what she wanted — a strip of hormone tests from the medical wing. Surprisingly she’d found that another species on board the ship also produced the hormone compound that she needed to test for, although their HCG production was associated with an increase in strength, not pregnancy.

The nausea she’d felt at the ball three weeks ago hadn’t dissipated. In fact, it had gotten worse, to the point that she was dry-retching every morning until she had something small to eat. Her breasts ached constantly, and she felt bloated. She had bled, but only lightly and for a couple of days. At the time she’d put the irregularity in her menstrual cycle down to the stress of discovering her parents’ deaths. Now her gut told her it was something else entirely.

She hadn’t thought it was possible. To procreate, two species needed to be so genetically similar, and Saiyans were nothing like her in so many ways. The chance of it was slim to none. And yet...

Back in her private quarters she peed in a cup, and dipped each of the hormone tests in one by one (she wanted to be sure), laying them flat on the tiles at her feet. She watched as the dye moved up each test, her stomach dropping as two lines — indicating a positive — formed on every single strip.

“Fucking fucking hell,” she hissed. “Fucking  _ shit! _ ”

She jumped off the toilet, spinning around just in time to vomit into the bowl.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma stood before Cooler, the third time in as many days. She had updated the capsules a little — a follow-through of her lie — and had shown him yesterday. The fact that he’d called her up once more had her nervous that he was onto her. 

She was certain he wouldn’t allow a pregnancy to progress. Vegeta’s warning had echoed in her mind often in the past week since she’d begun to suspect that she was pregnant.  _ You are not as invincible as you think. _

If Cooler was mad at her, he gave no sign of it. He sipped his wine at a lazy pace, leaving her waiting. She braced herself as he opened his mouth to speak, but what came out was not what she’d been expecting.

“I want you to spy on Frieza.”

“Spy?”

“Electronically. Remotely. Whatever words you want to use for it. You can do this, can’t you? You told me you can do anything when it comes to technology.”

“I can do it. His ship is the same as this. I can hack into the camera feeds. Is that what you want?”

“I want to know what he is _ thinking. _ ”

“I can probably get you audio through the old intercom system.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll need to go to Planet Cooler 79 again. We don’t have the space in our hard drives on board for such a big operation,” she told him. This was true, at least, and it would buy her some time to sort out what she was going to do about her unexpected pregnancy. She really didn’t want to start showing while still on board Cooler’s ship.

“There’s no possible way for you to manage it from here?”

“No. I need to manually hook everything up to the system. I’m sorry.”

“Alright. Go. You will send through what you find out, as soon as you get it. Anything interesting; what planets he is focusing on next, any technology he is picking up, all of it.”

“I’ll send it through.”   


“Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta chose to wear something with a hood this time. He pulled it over his hair and tight around his face, and stepped down the ramp of his ship, the rain battering him hard. It reminded him of the first time he’d met Bulma. Now, it seemed, he was chasing her halfway across the galaxy on Frieza’s hairbrained mission.

He’d chosen the bar where he’d first met her almost three months ago to meet with the defector from Cooler’s army. The boy — a Cormondan that looked no more than 18 — was already waiting for him inside, sitting in the Earth-booth by the window. Vegeta took a seat opposite the boy.

“The information?” he demanded without preamble. The kid stared back at him nervously, his four eyes blinking one by one in succession.

“That chick, the scientist with blue hair, yeah she’s in the Fosh System, man. On Cooler 79. She’s doin’ somethin’ top secret, like  _ top _ top secret. I can’t get any more info than that, but that’s where you’ll find her, dude.”

“Right.”

“Okay. So… how’s this work dude? Like, you’re gonna pay me now, right? You got the credits here?”

Vegeta sighed. This kid was too fucking green, and an absolute idiot. “Not in here,  _ dude _ ,” he mocked, though the kid didn’t seem to pick up on it. “Meet me outside in five minutes.”

“Sweet. Thanks dude.”

Vegeta rose from his seat and left, waiting just around the corner under the eaves of the building. After three minutes the boy appeared (the kid couldn’t even count), looking around for him.

Vegeta raised his hand, firing off a ki blast that incinerated the boy’s body, the ash left from the blast washing away in the rain..

“Thanks,  _ dude _ ,” Vegeta muttered, pulling his hood tighter around his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Twelve weeks.

Bulma stood side-on and stared at herself in the mirror. She had a baby bump — small, but definitely there — and as the days passed she felt as if she had a physical bomb strapped to her, the detonator ticking closer to zero with every waking moment. She pulled her top back down, thankful that it still hid her bump from the rest of the world. Cooler 79 was more or less empty, but she did see at least one or two other members of Cooler’s Army on a day to day basis.

Being on Cooler 79 had given her some freedom and time to plan, and her final argument with the father of her child had spurred her on. Vegeta had said she’d never escape the Colds; well, she was going to prove him wrong.

Ironically, her answer had also come from Vegeta’s side of the Cold Empire. Cooler had asked her to spy on Frieza, and she had, managing to hack into the intercom system on Frieza’s ship. She’d uncovered enough information to gather that she had become a target, recognising Zarbon’s voice discussing plans involving her, and after a few heart-stopping moments she’d dug further and realised that she wasn’t going to be assassinated, but kidnapped instead. Frieza wanted her genius mind, just as Cooler did.

And that had been the start of her plan. She wasn’t going to sit in wait as for some unknown attacker to come get her; she was going to fight back. And then frame them for her death, and leave without anyone knowing that she was still alive.

She’d listened to all the audio she could (it was still patchy — most of the intercom units on Frieza’s ship were completely offline), and she hadn’t been able to find out who was being sent to retrieve her. Thankfully, she knew it couldn’t be Vegeta; she’d overheard a man that she’d later identified as Raditz discussing the Saiyan mission they were about to begin. That had been last week.

To keep Cooler happy, she’d sent him audio files of Frieza discussing plans with two sets of potential clients, plus a summarised list of upcoming purges. He’d sent her back a brief message _ ‘Well done my little pet,’ _ and her blood had boiled once more. Nothing would erase the anger she felt towards him, towards the Cold Empire, but vowing to stay alive and escape and  _ be free  _ was a good start.

Her plan was simple, really. She’d designed a device that could drain the life force, or ki as Yamcha used to call it, from anyone — and when administered at the same time as an electric shock, the effect was almost instantaneous. She’d had a plan for the invention for a year, but her pregnancy had spurred her on to finish and use it.

The final design was a small two-pronged fork that she attached to the underside of her watch and retracted when not in use. The best part of the design was that she’d upgraded the watch to receive her neural transmissions, meaning that she simply had to consciously _ think _ about a command to make her watch perform tasks — such as turn on her weatherguard, or in this case, administer a high-voltage charge and drain a person of most of their ki.

She wasn’t sure when her assailant would come, but she guessed it would be soon. Until that point she continued to work in the main lab on 79, constantly fiddling with technology, even if she found it hard to stay focused, and jumped at every noise.

Today she had another round of audio files to send through to Cooler. She left her lodgings and headed to the lab, sucking on her water bottle and unlocking the door’s passcode with one hand, all the while still processing the whole scenario she’d gotten herself into. Saiyans had to have some long-lasting sperm, she’d deduced. Surely there was no way a Human man could have gotten her pregnant only six days into her cycle…

Lost in thought, at first she didn’t notice the shadowy figure in the near corner of the room, but when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye she jumped, her hand flying to her heart as she screamed.

“Quiet, woman!” Vegeta hissed back at her. “Stop that infernal noise!”

She shook her head, throwing her water bottle at him. He dodged it and it hit the wall behind him with a thud. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?!” she cried.

“I’m here to collect you,” he said, and then it hit her. He was here for  _ her _ . He was the assailant she’d prepared for. “Frieza has requested an audience,” he continued, but she barely heard him.

“Has… has Cooler been informed of this?” she asked, her mind reeling through possibilities. She’d trusted this man enough to sleep with him, enough to tell him some of her fears and dreams. Could she trust him with her plan? Could he help her escape?

“What do you think?” he replied, his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. She loved that smile, those lips. When she’d laid with him there’s been something so strong, a connection she hadn’t felt with anyone else before. She wanted to believe that he could save her.

But he’d shut down her dreams with the harsh reality of their situation. He’d said nothing would ever change. 

“Do I have a choice?” she asked. This was important.  _ Please say yes _ , she begged silently.

“No.”

She shook her head. “So you’re here to take me to Frieza, for what purpose? And why you? Why did you have to be the one for this… job! Why did you come here?” Her voice rose an octave at the end; she was getting upset, more than she’d ever been before in front of him. This ruined her plans. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“It is the job I was assigned. It’s nothing personal, Bulma. You are to be an Elite in the Frieza Force. You will design technology for Frieza.”

“Frieza is a lot more unstable than Cooler. This… you can’t —”

“I have to. You have to. Now come here.”

She shook her head, and he stepped forward, approaching slowly. “I thought you might have enjoyed the idea of  _ another good fuck _ ,” he said as his hands reached out and grabbed her shoulders gently. His eyes were playful, hopeful, and it tore her apart.

“Vegeta.” Her hand rose, and he let her touch him, her fingers brushing the side of his face. She thought  _ hard, _ visualising her technology in her mind _. _

He let out a strangled cry and dropped like a stone, landing on the floor in a spasming mess. His eyes were wide, pupils blown full as he stared up at her, his mouth struggling to form words.

“I am  _ sorry, _ ” she cried, her face contorting because she could no longer control it; she was _ done _ with all the acting and lying and deceit. She heard a sob and realised it was her, hot tears streaming down her face. “It’s nothing personal,” she continued, repeating his line back to him. “It wasn’t supposed to be you here. I had it all planned out, but it wasn’t supposed to be you.”

“Wha-rrr,” Vegeta gurgled. She could see him struggling to lift his head. He bared his teeth, and a growl ripped from his throat. “Yyouuu.”

“I’m going. And they’re going to find you here. And they’re going to think you murdered me. And no one will look for me — no one is going to go hunting after a dead girl.”

She ran over to the lab’s refrigerator and pulled out the huge carton she’d stored. She opened the lid and began to pour it on the floor, coating the white tiles in her synthesised blood. When it was empty she through the carton in the incinerator hatch and set it to burn, then placed her hands in the blood and smeared her handprints on the table and benches and floor, crawling through the red puddle and making it look like she’d tried to escape. She splattered it about the place, until flecks of blood coated almost every surface.

She’d thought everything through.

“You… crazy… bitch,” Vegeta snarled, and she realised that he’d regained some movement. She stripped off her bloody clothes, boots, everything, and quickly incinerated those, too. She washed her hands free of all the blood. Then she strode back to Vegeta, standing over him naked apart from the watch on her wrist.

“You told me I wouldn’t escape. Watch me.”

She shocked him again — she had no choice, she couldn’t risk him coming after her — and he convulsed on the floor once more. Then she shifted over to her desk - avoiding the blood — and pulled out a capsule filled with clean clothes.

“It’s not going to work,” Vegeta told her as she was pulling on her boots. He still couldn’t move, and his words were slurred.

“Yes it is.”

“I don’t kill that way.” She could hear him wheezing. “I… don’t leave  _ mess. _ No blood. Not for weaklings.”

She walked back over to him, standing over his body once more. “I don’t believe you.”

“When have I lied to you? Never!” He lifted his head off the tiles for a second before dropping it back down with a thunk. “What… have you done to me?” he snarled.

“Drained your ki — your power. It will come back within 24 hours.”

“Cooler will kill me. You will have that on your conscience. The man you fucked and betrayed. The man you left for dead.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Enlighten me then!” he yelled, his eyes wide with fury. “Tell me why, bitch!”

“Because I am pregnant!” she screamed. “With your baby! And Cooler will kill me when he finds out, and Frieza will kill both of us if he finds out, because he’s afraid of Saiyans and their legends!” Her throat was raw and she was crying again. She knelt down beside him, shaking her head. “I thought you were on a mission with the other Saiyans. I thought it would be some soldier I cared nothing about and I could leave them to die without the guilt. I can’t live like  _ this _ in the Cold Empire _. _ I won’t do twenty five years like you have. And I won’t get rid of my child.”

Vegeta was silent. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She stood, wiping her eyes. She headed for the door, pausing just before the threshold. She’d find his ship, then activate the alarm. “I told you, if this had been another universe —”

“Take me with you.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Take me with you, damn it!” he begged, desperation clear in his voice. “I will not be killed this way! I am the Prince of Saiyans! You cannot do this to me!”

“And that’s why I can’t take you! Your pride — you’ll kill me now, won’t you? For doing this to you? You’ll snap my neck.”

“You don’t know what I’ll do. You don’t know what I would have done. You could have told me you were pregnant and needed to get out without doing  _ this  _ to me!”

“ _ I don’t trust you, _ ” she cried. “How am I supposed to trust you? I barely know you! There is no one that could save me but myself. I have to think about  _ me _ . I have to think about my baby. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going now.”

_ “Please.” _

The word was whispered, but it might as well have been screamed. She heard it in her bones, her heart tearing apart. She stood, her hand poised over the keypad on the door, and couldn’t bring herself to condemn him to death.

“If I take you with me, if you stay with me, they will hunt us forever. I can’t have that.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll take you as far as the trade route. I’ll leave you there. You can tell Frieza you found me dead.”

He was silent. She walked over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and shocked him again. His scream made her wince. She couldn’t have him regaining his strength mid-journey.

She found a trolley used to transport equipment and dragged him onto it, dropping him twice in the process. He grunted but did not cry out, his mouth clenched shut. She dragged a tarpaulin over the trolley, covering him, and ordered him to stay quiet on her way to his ship. 

She found it exactly where she had predicted her assailant to park it; hidden behind the far side of the compound. She only passed one cleaner on the way, and they paid her no mind.

She couldn’t push the trolley up the ramp, so had to drag him up it slowly, her whole body trembling from the exertion once she was done. Once the door had closed behind them did she breathe a sigh of relief. It was almost over.

She left him on the floor while she powered up the ship and took off, setting it to autopilot. It would take just under a day to reach their destination. She calculated she’d probably have to shock Vegeta once an hour until then; his recovery was faster than she expected, and she couldn’t risk letting him regain any movement.

She told him this, sitting beside him. She didn’t dare look him in the eye as she apologised once more, even as she took his hand and administered another shock.

“You  _ humiliate _ me,” he whispered to her, sometime in the ship’s night.

“At least this way you’ll live,” she replied.

“I could hunt you down.” She could feel the glare of his eyes on her. She felt sick. How had it come to this?

“You won’t,” she told him. “You’re going to let us live by telling Frieza that I am dead.” Her hand settled on her belly.

“Frieza may kill me yet.”

“I hope he doesn’t.”

“I should have given you more credit from the start. You really are a cold-hearted bitch.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta felt sick. He’d been in and out of consciousness for what seemed like forever, Bulma’s face swimming in his vision. He couldn’t remember what had happened; only that she was upset, and so was he, and that he had been so angry.

Now he just felt nothingness.

“Goodbye Vegeta,” her voice called from far away. He felt himself fall, rolling so that he was face-up. There was water everywhere, pouring down from the sky, soaking him to the bone. 

The sky lit up in a flash of lightning. He saw his ship fly away.

He closed his eyes, and let the water drown him.

 

* * *

 

 

He woke in water, his arms flailing in a disorientated panic. “It’s okay! It’s okay!” someone yelled, and he came back to himself, realising that he was naked in a regeneration tank. The liquid began to drain, his feet lowering to the ground of the tank, and he removed the mask.

“Where am I?” He still felt foggy from the pain medication.

“Back on Frieza’s ship. We made a detour to pick you up. He’s not happy with you,” the medic added. “You go on a mission and end up drunk on a trade route, pissing yourself. That’s not like you, Prince Vegeta.”

No, it wasn’t like him. Memories came flooding back now, and he grit his teeth, holding back a snarl as he remembered his humiliating defeat against the one person he had ever dared to bare his black soul to. 

She’d taken his pride from him, and then begged him not to betray her to Frieza. He thought of the child she carried, and the fate she had decided for herself without trusting him. He refused to think of it from her perspective. She had wronged him.

He’d hate her for it until the day he died.

He’d only managed to put his pants on when he heard the medic gasp, and turned to find Frieza standing in the doorway. His blood ran cold at the sight; never in his life had Frieza done such a thing. On this ship, you went to Frieza. He did not come to you.

It meant one thing; if he couldn’t talk his way out of this, he was dead.

“You failed me,” Frieza hissed. “You had one job, and you  _ failed me! _ ” Vegeta didn’t even have time to dodge before a fist slammed into his stomach, the other jamming into his side and snapping the ribs there.

“She was already dead,” Vegeta wheezed, using Bulma’s lie. “She was already gone.”

Frieza stopped, pushing him onto the ground. “What?”

“She… she was dead when I found her. There was nothing I could do.”

Frieza stared down at him. How had it come to this? Tears — of frustration, of  _ something _ — pricked in the corners of his eyes, his chest feeling as if it were breaking in two. “I… I  _ wanted _ her here,” he heard himself say, the truth leaking out of him. “Now she is gone.”

“You are a fool, Vegeta,” Frieza told him. “An absolute fool.”

Vegeta remained on the floor, broken, until long after Frieza’s footsteps had disappeared. 


	4. Epilogue

**Year 776 GS (Galactic Standard)**

 

Vegeta stood in the ship’s main deck behind Frieza, eying the lizard with caution. A huge holoscreen stretched before them, the image of King Cold on his throne filling the screen.

“What do you mean  _ Cooler is dead?! _ ” Frieza screeched. His tail thumped the floor hard enough to make the tiles crack. Zarbon, standing on Frieza’s other side, took an involuntary step back. “This joke isn’t funny, daddy.”

“It’s no joke,” Cold boomed, leaning forward in his chair until his ugly face filled the screen. “My poor boy was killed on a planet called E-arth. There were no survivors on his ship. I’ve had to take over the remainder of his army myself!”

“I haven’t even heard of E-arth before.”

“It’s a mud ball in the Helios System. Very backwater country. I find it hard to believe that something from there killed him, but reports have said that it was a  _ native _ from the planet.”

Vegeta kept his expression neutral, though the news stabbed at him inside, opening up old wounds and making them raw once more. It had been ten years since he last saw  _ her _ , but she had been from the Helios System. She’d called her planet _ Earth. _

It had to be a coincidence. There was no way it could be connected to Bulma.

 

* * *

 

 

They landed on Earth a week after the news broke, Cold’s ship landing directly behind theirs. Vegeta stood back and let the footsoldiers file out of the ship first, waiting until Frieza himself was ready to set foot on the planet.

“This is a disgusting place,” Frieza hissed. “Covered in dust.”

Vegeta nodded, surveying their surroundings. They’d landed in a desert, but from the air he’d spotten lush green land and forests, and bright blue oceans. The sky here was clear, the sky a gradient of blue, reminding him once more of Bulma Briefs and her blue stare.

Cold approached them, coming to stand beside his son. “I am happy for you to take the lead here. The priority should be to find Cooler’s murderer.”

Frieza nodded, and addressed the troops. Vegeta didn’t pay attention to what was being said, his mind distracted by a movement on the horizon. He frowned, but couldn’t see anything of significance, and dismissed it as some sort of native wildlife.

The crowd of soldiers cheered and took to the air, and then things happened so quickly that even Vegeta found it hard to follow. There was a blur, and the entire army seemed to fall dead around them, every single soldier being dealt a fatal blow. Vegeta tensed, looking around, and realised that only a select few were still standing; Nappa, Raditz, Zarbon, Frieza, Cold, and himself.

His mouth dropped open as he looked around, finding nothing. His scouter had failed to register anything, either, and he pulled it off, throwing it to the ground in frustration. “ _ Fuck, _ ” he swore. “Nappa, Raditz, stay on guard.”

Another blur whipped close in front of him and he tensed, unable to match its speed. It stopped a good distance back, and he heard Raditz swear at the sight.

It was a boy, a child. He stood glaring at them all with pale purple hair and bright blue eyes, the colour far too familiar for Vegeta.  _ It is a coincidence, _ he told himself,  _ all the natives will have that colouring _ . 

Then Vegeta spotted the Saiyan tail that unwound itself from the boy’s waist and flicked angrily behind him, and Vegeta’s heart stopped in his chest. He looked at the boy’s face and realised it was like looking in a mirror, right down to the angry little snarl he wore.

“Frieza! Cold! I’m going to kill you!” the boy yelled, his fists clenched at his sides. It would have been comical, had Vegeta not witnessed the massacre just now.

Beside him, Frieza began to laugh.

 

* * *

 

Trunks Vegeta Briefs hated killing people, even if they were bad guys, but his mom had explained just how nasty these aliens were, and he’d seen the way the first lot — Cooler’s army — had treated Earthlings. If he had to kill these guys to protect the Earth, then he’d do it.

And so he’d cut down the soldiers with ease, leaving only the Saiyans his mother had described, and Salza’s old boyfriend Zarbon remaining. He’d left Frieza and Cold, too. They would be a little harder to kill.

Trunks did his best not to look at the Saiyan man that he knew was his father.  _ “The short one,” _ his mo had described.  _ “You look like him.”  _ Instead he glared at the Colds, and told them he would kill them.

The smaller one —  Frieza — began to laugh, the same way Cooler had before he died. It made Trunks angry, and he stepped forward. “Come and fight me!” he demanded.

“Fight you? A child!” It laughed again. “No. Vegeta, you fight the boy.”

Trunks was horrified, and this time he did look at his father. The man hesitated, his expression serious, and Trunks knew he needed to do something. “No!” he yelled, his tail curling angrily behind him. “I won’t fight another Saiyan. I will fight you!”

“Vegeta, kill him.”

“I won’t fight my own dad!” Trunks yelled, angry at being ignored. He heard a lot of them gasp like they were surprised by the news. “ _ You _ fight me, you coward lizard freak!”

Frieza was no longer smiling. Trunks felt like he was watching in slow motion as Frieza lifted an arm, not towards him, but towards Vegeta.  _ No. _ Trunks flew, as fast as he could, transforming his body the way he had trained to. 

He got there just in time, deflecting the blast that had been aimed for his father’s heart. The anger welled up inside him, taking over, and he sprang forward. He was done with talking.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta could not believe it. Within a matter of seconds the boy had declared that he was his son, protected him from Frieza when he himself had not seen the blast coming, and had somehow managed to do the impossible, transforming.

The boy’s hair and tail were both gold now, and as the boy sprung forward Vegeta heard Nappa utter the words  _ ‘Super Saiyan.’ _

It was almost anti-climactic. Frieza threw a blast at the kid, but the boy deflected it with ease, landing a kick on Frieza that sent the lizard flying backwards into a cliff face. The boy wasted no time in attacking Cold, either, appearing behind him and firing a fatal blast through his chest. Cold slumped forward, dead.

Frieza emerged from the rubble screaming and attempted to surprise the boy, but he as ready for him, firing a blast that incinerated Frieza’s body to ash. The entire battle lasted no more than a minute.

The boy’s golden hair and green eyes disappeared, and Vegeta watched as he spoke into a device wrapped around his wrist — one that Vegeta would recognise anywhere. Bulma had worn one, had attacked him, had  _ bested _ him with one just like it.

“Mom, it’s over now. You can come pick us up.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma sped across the desert sands on her hoverbike, Salza flying low beside her. Her heart was somewhere in her throat, fear for Trunks overwhelming almost everything except the nervousness of meeting Vegeta face to face again. 

The Colds’ ships came into view, and with them the few figures that stood alive outside it. As she drove closer she could see the bodies that littered the ground and her heart broke for her son, who’d had no choice but to fight back against the Cold Empire. Without him, she wouldn’t be alive right now.

She skidded to a halt just behind him, whipping off her helmet and dismounting as fast as she could. “Trunks!” She ran to him and threw her arms around his little body, relief flooding through her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine Mom. The didn’t even touch me,” he replied, brushing her hands off his shoulders. He was blushing, and as his eyes glanced away from her and towards the men watching them, she realised what the issue was.

“Sorry for embarrassing you,”  she whispered, brushing back the hair from his forehead. She stood, placing her hand on her son’s shoulder once more, and turned to face the few men that remained from the Cold Empire.

“Hello Vegeta,” she said, her heart hammering in her ears. He looked the same; he hadn’t really aged, though he seemed a little taller, his muscles a little more filled out than before. He stared back at her, and she longed to know what was going on in his mind. He looked impassive, a cold wall, and her heart burned with the shame of what she had done to him in their last meeting.

“Bulma,” he spoke eventually. “This is your son?”

“Yes. This is Trunks. He’s your son, too. And he’s a Super Saiyan.” She smiled at Trunks, who glanced back at her nervously. Then Trunks’ eyes widened in shock, and he nudged her side.

“Uhh… Mom…”

Bulma followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. Salza and Zarbon had obviously gotten past the shock of their reunion faster than she had, and were engaged in a relatively intimate kiss. She shook her head, pulling out her capsule plane that was large enough to seat them all. “Hey boys,” she yelled. “Get a room! But seriously, let’s go home and  _ eat  _ and  _ talk _ , and then you can have your reunion  _ away from the children _ .”

 

* * *

 

 

The boy was protective of his mother; that much was obvious. Vegeta observed the way he hovered near her as she piloted the aircraft, not in the usual neediness he’d previously observed in children, but with a vigilance that implied that the boy had used violence to guard Bulma before. 

It was a point worth noting. The boy was unfathomably powerful, and had obvious control over his strength. He hadn’t fought much per se, simply cut down his enemies in one or two blows, but with that much power he wouldn’t need to engage in long battles. Ever.

Vegeta found himself torn between intense jealousy, anger, shame — he’d been bested again, and this time by a nine year old — and a strange sense of pride that it was his own flesh and blood that had cut Frieza down. He wondered briefly if this was how his father had felt, his strength surpassed by his four year old son.

Physically, Bulma had barely changed. She still had the curvaceous figure he’d been familiar with so long ago, though she’d cut her hair shorter so that it sat close to her head and left her neck bare. Her only signs of age were the slight lines around her mouth and eyes.

For her part, Bulma was quiet — the quietest he’d ever seen her — every now and then glancing behind her to where he sat in the cabin of the aircraft. He did not know what to make of her remorseful stare. Up until today he would have told himself that he was pleased to never see her again; that he wanted nothing of or from her. Now he stared into her blue eyes and found himself wanting. Whether it was retribution or something else entirely, he wasn’t so sure.

“Hey, Vegeta,” Nappa whispered (if you could call it that; Nappa was always obscenely loud), “Did you know about the kid?”

Vegeta saw the boy’s head turn. The brat was listening. He considered what to tell Nappa, and decided the bare essentials would be acceptable. “I knew she was pregnant.”

“Huh.” 

Raditz, slouched in his seat, suddenly sat up straight. “Hey. You think… there’s got to be more of them here, right? She’s a native of this place, isn’t she?”

“More of what?” the boy asked, frowning at Raditz and giving up his pretense that he wasn’t listening. 

Raditz grinned. “Human  _ females. _ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma gave them a quick tour of Capsule Corporation; the grounds had never been disturbed in either of Cooler’s attacks, and for that she was thankful. She’d been prepared for the additional guests; using Salza’s old scouter, she’d listened in to communications from the Cold Empire and had made a plan with Trunks about who to save, and who to kill.

She  _ hated _ using her child as a weapon. It disgusted her. She added it to her list of ‘things I’m really fucking guilty about’, alongside what she’d done to Vegeta.

She gave her guests food, ordering in from all the takeout places that had just reopened down the road. They ate in silence, the Saiyans (including Trunks) devouring huge quantities of food faster than she could finish a single plate. Afterwards, Trunks entertained Nappa and Raditz with his selection of video games, while Vegeta sat quietly, observing everything in a way that reminded her of the very first time she’d met him. 

When Trunks began to tire, she ordered him to bed, arguing with him in English until he left. “Brush your teeth!” she yelled after him, this time in Standard for the sake of their guests, breaking the tension in the room just a little.

“Would anyone like a drink? I’ve got beer, cider, wine…”

“Wine,” Zarbon and Salza replied in unison. Nappa and Raditz wanted beer. Vegeta wanted nothing. 

“So,” Zarbon began, as soon as she sat down on the edge of a couch. The men — on average larger than Humans — had taken up most of the room on her furniture. “Tell us how the hell you managed to get away from Cooler. I heard there’d been clear evidence of your murder.”

Bulma glanced at Vegeta, noting the way he sat frozen, staring at her.  _ I won’t tell them, _ she wanted to say.  _ I’ll never tell a soul.  _ She hadn’t even told Trunks what had happened that day.

To Zarbon, she explained that she’d planned to fake her death, to avoid Cooler searching for her. “And Vegeta helped me escape, when he came to kidnap me under Frieza’s orders.”

“How sentimental,” Zarbon drawled. “I didn’t think Vegeta had it in him. So this is some reunion for you two lovebirds then, isn’t it?”

Vegeta snorted at that. “Some reunion indeed.”

 

* * *

 

 

She was on her second drink. All the others had gone to bed, bar Vegeta, who hadn’t moved from his seat on the couch. Bulma took another swig of her beer and met his gaze. He was staring at her, watching her as he had done so many (and yet so few) times before. She lifted her bottle towards him in greeting, and he gave her a rueful turn of his lips in return.

She crossed the room without consciously thinking of doing so, and stood before him. “Is anyone sitting there?” she said, echoing a time long ago.

“Does it look like it?” There was too much in his eyes to decipher, this time. Still a little bit of lust, maybe some humour, but a lot of hurt, mistrust, and anger, too.

“No.” She sat down, wanting to touch him but afraid to do so. The last time she had, it had been to cause him pain.

“Trunks is a pretty special kid,” she began. “I think he’s a good mix of the best parts of us.”

“He’s protective of you.”

“He is. He’s… we haven’t always lived in safe places. The past ten years haven’t been easy. But with the Colds dead, I think Trunks and I can begin to feel safe again. I hope you’ll have that chance, too.”

Silence stretched between them. Vegeta reached out, plucking her beer bottle from her hands and sculling the drink in one go. “I underestimated you,” he told her, his dark gaze piercing her in the same way it had in that bar. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet she could remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. “I underestimated you,  _ severely _ . It was a mistake I have not repeated since.”

Her mouth felt dry. “I never thought of you as the enemy,” she told him, doing her best to weave all her thoughts into a clear statement. “I just didn’t trust anyone at the time. I didn’t think I could. Over the years I’ve wondered a lot about whether I was wrong about you.”

Vegeta shook his head. “I never wanted children. Who would want to bring a child into that world? I would have told you to abort it.”

“That’s what I thought. Would you have forced me to, though? Taken me to some medical clinic against my will?”

“No.”

“So I did that to you for no good reason. You would have let me escape.”

Vegeta shook his head. “There’s no point dwelling on what-ifs. It happened the way it happened. You battled me, and I lost.”

“It wasn’t a battle.”

“It was. I had thought, after our second meeting, that you had the personality of a Saiyan. At one point I had wished that you were Saiyan.” He chuckled, a dark, bitter laugh. “Now I am thankful that you are not. You are too terrifying already.”

“You still think I’m a fucking bitch?”

“Yes. But I cannot begrudge you for saving your child.  _ That  _ part of it was honorable, at least.”

They sat in silence. It was… _ companionable _ . Eventually she felt like she had to break it. 

“Whenever I am with you, I find myself sharing things I never intended to. I think there’s something about you that makes me feel like I can be myself around you, whatever that means. You see through the bullshit everyone else takes as truth.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “I have thought about you every day since I last saw you. Would you see that as punishment enough? I used to wish, before I found out that I was pregnant, that there was a different universe where we could be together, because I could see that when you’re with me, you can be  _ you _ , too. The Vegeta you were meant to be.” His black stare was thoughtful. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” she whispered.

He shook his head, looking away, and her heart dropped.

“You tell the truth,” he said quietly. “As maddening as that is.”

“Can we start over? Forget it ever happened?”

“You want to forget your child? What a bad mother.” There was humour in his eyes.

She smacked him in the arm, then realised what she had done. He stared at her, those dark eyes intelligent and thoughtful.

“I won’t hurt you Bulma,” he spoke quietly. “Even after all the shit you put me through.” When she hesitated, he added, “When have I ever lied to you?”

“Never,” she replied with a sigh. It hit her suddenly that after everything, she did trust him. He’d never betrayed her to Frieza, after all.

“Hn.” He was quiet for some time. She got up and grabbed them both another beer, and they sipped their drinks slowly while he asked basic questions about the planet, the moon, and how she’d come to be back on Earth.

“What will you do now?” she asked. “You are free from the Colds.”

“Their army still exists.”

“You’re going to take it over? Start running the show? Be the next warlord to rule the galaxy?”

“No.” Vegeta crossed his arms. “I’m going to shut it down. And then I’m going to get that boy to show me how to become a Super Saiyan.”

“Does this mean you’ll be staying for a while?”

He gave her another long look, and she was sure she could see desire in that gaze. “For a while, at least.”

 

_ \- fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> If you made it to the end, thank you so much for supporting this fic! Even bigger thanks to those that left reviews, every single one is appreciated (even the ones when you are angry at the characters, or at me for what I made them do).
> 
> Thanks again to the wonderful artists HannaBellLecter and thats-my-bulma, and to Lady Lan for being my beta and easing my fears when I was scared this fic was a bit too different from what I usually do.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this fic! Let me know if you think I should add more to this universe in the form of a few one-shots... I can just about 'see' a Bulma and Trunks fic to fill in those missing years. I love Raditz, so I wouldn't mind exploring his new discoveries on Earth, either :P 
> 
> \- Pic


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